Violent Soho, Eat LaserScumbag, Dick Nasty, Turnpike,No Anchor @ Step Inn, Brisbane(24/10/2008)

Wed 29th Oct, 2008 in Gig Reviews

Initially billed as headliners, Violent Soho have been usurped at the last minute by Brisbane punk stalwarts Eat Laser Scumbag. However, crowd and Mansfield’s finest forge on unperturbed – beer and noisy, fuzzed-out rock combining in copious quantities for a rowdy, memorable night.

First, guitar-and-bass two-piece No Anchor entertain the pleasantly large number of early-comers with their bent for meandering quasi-instrumental numbers that seem to have been fed a steady diet of steroids. Bassist Ian wrings a surprising amount of melody from his instrument while simultaneously layering it with distortion and feedback – at times evoking memories of Cliff Burton. Deft use of sustain fills out the sound, but when he occasionally steps up to the microphone, the vocals are thin and reedy and song progression halts dead in the water.

Every Turnpike song appears to follow a similar pattern – a burst of thrashing guitars and oodles of screaming before a slow, gathering pause and another red-hot go at it. It all feels a bit like rough, sweaty sex. And maybe just as nasty, too.

To prolong a dubious metaphor, Dick Nasty seem to suffer from a propensity to climax too soon, too often. In one sense the manic adherence to the principles of short and sweet is charming, but one feels a little slighted that the fantastic punk riffs so often come to a screeching halt just as a tune seems about to skyrocket. But what is the opinion of one blue-balled reviewer to that of scores of other ecstatic beer-soaked patrons?

About to fly off to destroy the eardrums of unsuspecting New York and London denizens, Brisbane’s prime exponents of suburban nihilism prove to be in fine fettle as they open crunchingly with Son Of Sam. It’s a funny mix of the casual and the hardcore they seem to have attracted tonight, though. Perhaps more of the former than the latter, as the madly threshing knot wedged against the bar wall near bassist Luke Henery is outnumbered by sedate head-nodders elsewhere. Still, by the time the band strike up Jesus Stole My Girlfriend, the atmosphere has warmed nicely, and many voices eagerly take up the chorus alongside Luke Boerdam.

Fate – in the form of security escorting one of the band’s nearest and dearest from the premises – momentarily derails proceedings. The crowd vibe turns a trifle frosty, with chants of “bullshit” ringing around the room. Guitarist James Tidswell and drummer Michael Richards leap from the stage and frantic negotiations broker an compromise – the offending mate, “Reese”, returns and the band powers on with Love Is A Heavy Word and the ever-popular My Generation. Tidswell takes a moment to praise the line-up as the best they’ve ever played among – a ballsy call after supporting Black Francis just last month – then it’s on to the delectable riffs of GOD’s My Pal. You couldn’t possibly hope for a stronger showing from the 4122 boys, but as they finish by blistering the paint from the walls with a turbocharged rendition of Scrape It, there’s nevertheless a lingering feeling that the main course was a little on the lean side.

Not everyone proves to be a fan of the dessert course, but a gratifyingly large number of people stick around to sample Eat Laser Scumbag. The four-piece deliver raucousness in spades – enthusiastic punky vocals couched inside a sound where each instrument seems to consume the other. What remains after this ouborous-like musical meal is a rawness that peaks and troughs, but never entirely subsides. For those still around it’s all to the good. So much so that, at ten minutes to one, underwear is thrown as an inducement to encore. The encore feels hasty and impromptu, but as guitarist bangs out the final chords of the evening while being chaired around the room by one over-enthused punter, the chaotic conclusion to the evening feels just right.